


Saturday Morning

by Deviousness_Carter



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviousness_Carter/pseuds/Deviousness_Carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world doesn't need saving today, but the dishes do need doing.</p>
<p>Kink meme full for domestic bliss fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Fill I posted some time ago for the following prompt:
> 
> Benji/Brandt domestic bliss fluff:  
> I like smut too, especially Benji smut, so I'd be thrilled to see that as well, but I just want to read something sweet with these two all happy together and deeply in love with each other.  
> http://ghotocol-kink.livejournal.com/1494.html?thread=493270#t493270

On the other side of the bridge is a brief section of cliff with no guard rail or trees to keep cars from going over, and Brandt sees his opportunity. He pulls his vehicle alongside Benji's and then slams into him. Benji's car swerves from the impact and goes spinning off the cliff. Brandt tries not to smirk as he pulls ahead.

"You fight dirty," Benji whines beside him as his car returns to the course at the back of the pack.

Brandt says, "It's a legitimate tactic to bump other players off the course."

Benji says nothing, but at this point in their game-playing relationship, Brandt can read a certain amount of aggression in the way Benji hits the keys on his controller now. If it'd been earlier in the game that Benji finally got competitive like that, maybe it would have mattered, but Brandt's already rounding the corner just before the finish line. In one last burst of speed, he pulls ahead of Dr. Eggman and crosses first.

As the screen cuts to an animation of Shadow broodingly bragging, Brandt points at Benji.

"Dishes," he says.

Benji rolls his eyes and drops his controller to the floor. "Yeah, yeah, you prick," he says, climbing over the back of the couch to head for the kitchen where a pile of dirty breakfast dishes have been waiting for the loser of their game.

"Don't forget you have to dry and shelve them, too. No putting them on the rack and leaving them there until you just use them again," Brandt calls after him. Benji blows a raspberry but otherwise doesn't protest.

Brandt lies down lengthwise on the couch, picks up Benji's controller, and navigates the game to single player mode. He picks Shadow again and plays through Downtown Tokyo a few times just for the hell of it. There's no world-saving today, at least not for them, and he doesn't even have to do dishes.

He ought to call his sister, or maybe think about going through the enormous pile of mail that's been building up in his apartment since he became a field agent again, but his sister is on vacation in Hawaii and won't even be awake yet, and getting the mail would mean going to his apartment instead of staying at Benji's. Brandt hasn't actually been in his own apartment for longer than six hours in three months. They should talk about that, Brandt imagines, but not today.

Today it's drizzling rain outside, they cooked a breakfast of waffles and tater tots together, the electric kettle has been providing them a steady stream of Earl Grey, and Brandt is kicking ass at Sonic and Sega All-Stars Racing. Going home would mean no Benji and no XBox, and Brandt isn't feeling that.

"You know, when we first met, I wouldn't have pegged you for such a good racer," Benji says as he walks back up to the couch. He's slightly damp and smells of orange Palmolive, and his Sex Pistols shirt is riding up over his naval. He doesn't look like a secret agent. Brandt would say as much, because that's a compliment. They're not supposed to look like they have secrets, which is one thing that Ethan fails pretty spectacularly at, but Benji would probably take that the wrong way.

Instead Brandt says, "Hey, Benji," in his best _come here_ voice, and Benji obliges, climbing over the back of the couch and settling along on top of Brandt.

"Hey, yourself," Benji says happily. His chin digs into Brandt's breastbone as he speaks, and his wet shirt is making Brandt's wifebeater damp. Brandt can count the spots of brown in Benji's blue eyes.

"Another round?" Brandt asks.

Benji makes a show of thinking about it. "...Hmm, what're the stakes this time?"

"Blow job?"

Benji giggles --which is about forty-percent of Brandt's motivation for saying that. The other sixty-percent is genuine interest-- and shakes his head.

"I haven't got any incentive to win or lose in that case," Benji says, and because it's absolutely true, Brandt has to concede that that's a terrible prize to have at stake for competition.

"We could just skip the racing part, then."

Benji smiles and shifts up to press a quick peck to the tip of Brandt's nose.

"I like that idea."

"Yeah?" Brandt whispers.

"Yeah," Benji hums. "I can reclaim my title as the best gamer in this household later."

"I sincerely doubt that, Benji." Brandt tilts his head for a real kiss, slow and easy. He drops his controller to the coffee table and slides both his hands up the back of Benji's shirt.

Benji breaks the kiss to say, "No, no, I really am going to--" just as Brandt drags his nails down the length of his back, breaking off whatever he was going to say into a whimper.

"You really won't. To quote you, Benji," Brandt says, "I fight dirty."

Benji makes a strangled noise and dives back into the kissing, banter forgotten.

They do eventually get back to racing, but by that point, Benji is too blissed out and cuddly for it to be any kind of competition. Brandt doesn't mind, though. Assuming the world doesn't get itself into any horrific, impossible danger overnight, they can do the same thing tomorrow.

It'll be great.

**Author's Note:**

> Inexplicably, I adore video games as played domestically. Thank you for reading!


End file.
